


Dedicated Follower of Fashion

by laisserais



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-05
Updated: 2007-07-05
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/laisserais
Summary: This is an old-fashioned Fanged Four story. It starts out AU and dovetailsintocanon atDarla (AtS 2.7)andDestiny (AtS 5.8). In 1879, Angelus is feeling a little swept up in the zeitgeist. He runs into William.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from LJ. Originally posted 7/5/07

When I first started writing fanfic, I posted a series of small snippets inspired by the question: Why does Angelus have such long hair in 1880?

The snippets turned into a story, for which I now have an ending. I've taken the little sketches and put them together, fixing some of the technical errors and retconning a bit, to make sure it all hangs together with the final chapter. The story is now complete in two parts, which I am posting together, because waiting is no fun.

 

**Beta** : Thank you to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/) for her wonderful, patient beta reading and advice. Also, thanks to [](http://thatotherperv.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://thatotherperv.livejournal.com/)**thatotherperv** for her most excellent suggestions and pre-reading support.  
**A/N** : I had a lot of fun making this as historically accurate as possible. Each chapter has links to stuff that I reference, if you're curious about where I got things from.

A special thanks to [](http://kidcyclone.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kidcyclone.livejournal.com/)**kidcyclone** , who made the very awesome bad!poem that Will recites.

 

* * *

**Dedicated Follower of Fashion**

 

A large group of young men entered the room, accompanied by a chorus of guffaws and animated chatter. He looked up from his paper with a scowl.

“Three cheers for our newest member!”

“Hear hear!”

“Speech!”

They were being unconscionably loud. This was a gentlemen’s club, a place to escape the bustle and throng of humanity. He was on the point of conceding the room to the ill-mannered crowd when he noticed the man to whom the rest were giving their attention.

He was beautiful.

Golden hair like a cherub’s, eyes blazing with merriment, rosebud lips drawn into a smile. He was Pater’s “Ideal of Beauty” come to life. He resettled his paper so that he might spy unnoticed.

“You are too kind. Although I am not yet a member, I would like to thank Featherstone for his sponsorship, and all of you for your confidence in me. It is an honor just to be nominated.”

“Ha! That’s what you said about the Newdigate prize!”

“Will, you are too modest-”

“And he would have won it, too, if it hadn’t been for that great Irish beast.”

“Wilde’s not a bad sort, have you read his _Ravenna_?”

“Certainly not. The lout wouldn’t know a poem if it stood up and-“

“I’ll thank you to keep your remarks clean, gentlemen!” That was the youth, Will, his name was. He was laughing with the others as they poured a round of whiskey.

“A toast. To the man of the hour.”

As they lifted their drinks in salute, Angelus stealthily removed himself from the scene.

But not before he marked the boy once more. William.

 

: : : :

 

Darla was in one of her moods.

“Really, Angelus. It's one thing to clutter up our home with this... frippery," She waved her hand toward the lately acquired Burne-Jones, "Must you insist on such outlandish costumes? The point is to blend with society, not bring down its censure. How in the world do you plan to hunt in _that_?”

Angelus looked down at his ensemble.

He'd chosen the red and gold striped waistcoat, his emerald velvet morning coat, and the grey pinstripe trousers. He was the very model of a modern gentleman.

“Darla, if you'd condescend to read a book, you’d know that this waistcoat is the glass of fashion.”

Sighing, she swept a hand over her hair, “Darling, I really cannot tell you how excited I will be when this fad of yours has passed. You're drawing entirely too much attention to yourself.”

“That sounds like the Master talking.” He grinned, “Perhaps you’d rather we found a nice, dank sewer to be living in?”

He ducked out the door just before a vase full of peacock feathers shattered where his head had been.

 

Dru was sitting in the hall, clutching her boots in one hand. "Can I come with you, Angelus?"

"No, love, I'm going to a gentlemen's club. No ladies allowed." He stroked her cheek and gave her a quick peck.

"But it's not a gentleman that you're going to meet." Her eyes were wide and dark, unseeing.

"It's not, ey? Then tell me, what sort of man is he?"

She cocked her head, as though listening, before going on, "He's St. George… _and_ the dragon." She made a gesture, like running her hand through water, "He is so full of light."

Her gaze was far away, seeing some fancy of her own. Angelus chuckled as he handed her the boot horn. "I'll steer clear of any dragons, Dru, and you remember to wear your shoes tonight. "

 

: : : :

 

“It’s really quite simple, you see: art should serve no master but itself. Morality should have no sway over our acts of creation." The boy smiled widely, as if he'd hit upon some profound truth, "In fact, one could go so far as to say that the highest morality to which we could aspire is pleasure.” His eyes glittered with drink and the firelight.

Angelus took a healthy swig of his drink and forced his own eyes to stay open. “You were at Oxford, then?”

The boy looked startled, “Yes, how did you know?”

Angelus smirked. “And which college was it?”

“Magdalen,” William furrowed his brow, “But I’ve been sent down.”

“Tis a shame, that. Were you studying the classics?”

“Yes, actually, I was to read for them, before-”

“Tell me what you make of these French poets, now.” Angelus poured another round of whiskey, and casually slung an arm around the lad.

William made no move to disengage the arm across his shoulders. He launched instead into an account of who among the new poets he felt were noteworthy, and who were simply absinthe-addled nitwits.

Angelus noticed that the color rose beautifully to William’s cheeks as he became more engaged in his subject. The boy was on fire with ideas, of which Angelus heard about half.

“…But _Les Fleurs du Mal_ is truly brilliant, whatever they may say about… how he died.” William flushed and stuttered to a stop.

“Ah, but Baudelaire was quite the debauched sort, wasn't he? I’ve heard the fellow believed in all manner of nonsense. Even vampires.” Angelus let his arm glide down William’s back as he leaned closer. “Heard he was driven mad, at the end.”

They were inches apart from each other. The fire roared up the chimney. Coal hissed and spit in the grate. A grandfather clock in the corner chimed softly. They were the only ones left in the club.

William took a swallow of his drink. “Oh! Look at the time. I really must be going. Mother does get worried if I’m out late.”

“Aye. And so should I. Won’t do to be late, will it? We’ll have to finish this conversation another time.”

William brightened at that. “Yes, I’d quite like that.” He held out his hand. Angelus smiled as he gripped William’s hand in his own.

“Indeed. Until then, fair William.”

Angelus sauntered away from the club, whistling. Ah, such fine prey the boy would make.

Art should serve no master but itself, indeed.

 

: : : :

 

“Let’s stay in tonight,” Darla purred as she ran her hands over Angelus’ shoulders.

“Mmmm, Darla.” He skimmed his palms over her chemise. Silk rustled. He bent to plant a kiss on her neck, and inhaled her scent. He tightened the grip on her waist.

“I would, but you know I have a project.” he murmured into her hair, “In fact, he’s waiting for me right now in front of the National Gallery.”

Darla pouted. “You can attend to your mark later. Right now,” she pressed herself more tightly to his chest, “I think we should go back to bed.”

Angelus growled low as he let her push him down onto the mattress.

 

: : : :

 

Angelus kept to the shadows and watched the boy. He was waiting on the steps of the museum, fidgeting a bit in the cold, darting little glances up and down the street.

Materializing out of the fog surrounding Trafalgar, Angelus glided up to his side.

“Good Evening.” He had to repress a smirk as Will jumped and turned to face him.

“Oh! Hello! I was starting to worry you weren’t coming.”

“I apologize for being so late. There was an... unavoidable delay. Should we go in?”

He watched the boy’s eyes dilate and his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “Not sure the gallery is still open. We could inquire-“

“Ah, Now that’s a shame. Perhaps another time-“

“No!” He let out a shaky laugh, “that is, ah, it’s so cold, if the museum has closed, we could continue our conversation in... a pub?”

Angelus smiled in the way that showed all of his teeth. “I’d like that. Shall we?”

 

: : : :

 

Perhaps reclining in a bath? His delicate, English Rose complexion sallowing as a river of life’s blood blossoms in the water. Maybe a few scattered flower petals and a single, stuttering candle.

Angelus was jostled out of his reverie by the boisterous crowd. Someone elbowed him in the ribs, which would have meant certain death had he not taken the opportunity to press closer to the boy’s side, feigning great interest in the conversation.  
  
An overly jovial fellow near the back was starting to sing a sea chantey.

No, not petals- a confessional letter, falling from his hand, ink running lines of heartfelt drivel into the crimson-tinged water. Pose him like David’s _Marat_ : a martyr to inversion. His loved ones would stumble upon the body and discover his shame as well. He'd be ruled a suicide; unable to be buried in consecrated ground.

Angelus grinned into his mug of ale. He’d settled on a plan.

 

“Don’t you think?” William leaned into Angelus a hairsbreadth more, looking earnestly quizzical.

“Hm.” He paused as though pondering a difficult question and then replied, “It must be.”

William gave a relieved smile and took another swallow of his beer. “I’m glad you agree. It is so rare to find other like-minded souls. It seems to be a bit…controversial.”

“But it’s so clear,” Angelus shifted in his seat, staring at the far wall and doing a passable impression of weighing the matter, “After all, The Trinity itself proves that monotheism is a lie. And where do you think they got that from- one God with three natures? Christianity stole all of its good ideas from the Greeks. Just look at the iconography-”

“Yes! This is exactly what I'd been trying to explain to Fitz all along. You simply have to look at a culture’s art to see-"

“Fitz?”

Will grew red at the interruption, “Yes, he was- a friend of mine at school. Fitzroy. We… studied the classics together. He fancied sculpture of all the arts. Even planned a monograph on the Elgin Marbles, but he…” Will looked down at hands, “he never minded listening to what I wrote.”

 

“And what did you write?” Angelus asked in subdued tones, letting the gravity of the conversation be the reason for drifting closer to the boy’s ear as he spoke.

Will inhaled sharply as Angelus leaned in. It was almost a shame to think of so much responsive vitality snuffed out. Almost.

“I scribbled a bit… mostly poetry.” The blush was back, but he raised a level gaze, ready to defend an attack.

Their lips were mere inches apart. Angelus let a slow smile begin, wrapping his tongue around a canine tooth, and watching as Will’s eyes slipped down to track the motion.

“Could you recite something you wrote? For me?”

Will sat back against the bench, putting distance between them again, and reached out to stroke a finger down the side of his mug. “No. No, I couldn’t. I’m not very good.”

Angelus reached across the table for his mug, and left his body pressed into Will’s. From knee to shoulder, he felt the boy’s frame tense up, heat radiating through the layers of wool and silk in which they both were swathed.

“Please, for me?”

Angelus watched him look furtively across the crowded room. The pub was packed with working men, and here and there, women in brightly colored frocks and too much face paint would emerge from the sea of dull greys and browns. No one was paying them any attention.

“I…” Will’s brow lowered, “All right. But you mustn’t laugh.” He looked up out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m sure there'd be no reason to. But I give you my word that I won’t.”

Will pressed his lips together and studied the tabletop for a moment. Then, with a nod, he said, “All right.”

Angelus leaned back on the bench as Will turned fractionally to face him, and began:

 

“Between twilight and first light of rosy-fingered dawn,  
I wait expectantly for then you come to me, alone.  
Soft kisses stolen under hushed veil of night  
And sweet sighs when we must part again, at merest threat of light.

Oh, no marble god e'er boasted fairer face  
Than that with which each night my chamber you do grace.  
Your hands, your form, your eyes, your lips, each breath-  
Forbidden, full of life, they bring me to the brink of little death.

And yet by day's harsh light we daren't confess't  
The love that beats a tattoo in each hardened breast  
So pass without a second glance I might  
But all the while, I'll pray, O! Speed on, night!”

While the boy had started out quietly, shifting his glance from the table, to his own fidgeting hands, to the floor; by the final stanza he'd lost all trace of nervousness, and seemed almost defiant. For an instant, Will held Angelus’ gaze. Then he blinked and turned away, reaching for his drink.

“Love is so wise a poet that he can make another the same; at least, everyone becomes a poet whom love touches.”

Will’s arm froze in its path of bringing mug to lips. “You’ve read _The Symposium_?”

“Aye.” Angelus let the affirmation hang there between them, and sat very still as Will appraised him.

* * *

[[Aesthetic Movement](http://www.fashion-era.com/aesthetics.htm#What%20Was%20The%20Aesthetic%20Movement?)] • [[Pater's Ideal of Beauty](http://www.glbtq.com/literature/pater_w.html)] • [[The Newdigate Prize](http://www.gnelson.demon.co.uk/oxpoetry/index/inewd.html)] • [[Oscar Wilde](http://www.neuroticpoets.com/wilde/)] • [[ _Ravenna_](http://www.neuroticpoets.com/wilde/ravenna.shtml)] • [[Burne-Jones](http://www.victorianweb.org/painting/bj/bjchron.html)] • [[Gentlemen's Club](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gentlemen%27s_club_%28traditional%29)] • [[St. George and the Dragon](http://www.sossi.org/saint/stlegend.htm)]  
: : : :  
[[Magdalen College](http://www.magd.ox.ac.uk/)] • [[French Poets](http://www.enotes.com/nineteenth-century-criticism/french-symbolist-poetry)] • [[Absinthe-addled](http://www.erowid.org/chemicals/absinthe/absinthe.shtml)] • [[Les Fleurs du Mal](http://fleursdumal.org/)] • [[Baudelaire](http://kirjasto.sci.fi/baudelai.htm)]• [[How he died](http://www.cdc.gov/std/Syphilis/STDFact-Syphilis.htm#WhatIs)]  
: : : :  
[[The National Gallery](http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/)] • [[Trafalgar Square](http://www.camvista.com/england/london/trafsq.php3)]  
: : : :  
[[David's _Marat_](http://www.abcgallery.com/D/david/david7.html)] • [[Inversion: not actually coined for another 17 years. oops](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_inversion_%28sexology%29)] • [[Elgin Marbles](http://www.damon.gr/marbles/)] • [[The Trinity](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trinity)] • [[Little Death](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_little_death)] • [[The Symposium](http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/symposium.html)]

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Delaying his plan, Angelus decided, had been worth it. Looking down again, he fisted a hand in the boy's hair, pulling tight.

Limiting oneself to a particular… palette… was like wearing blinders in a garden. It gave one no opportunity to appreciate the subtle variations nature produced.

William's eyes crinkled as he slid Angelus' cock out of his mouth and Angelus frowned. "You're not stopping."

The boy shook his head in the negative, and ducked lower. A soft touch, and Angelus closed his eyes. There wasn't much left to teach him. It was almost a shame to think of this game coming to an end.

He felt William's nails scoring into his thigh and then warm, wet pressure, indescribable and perverse. Angelus let his thighs slip wider.

The boy knew things. The first night they'd come to this room, he'd made a suggestion that had given Angelus pause. He blamed his lack of a public school education.

This dalliance had only begun because he'd wanted to see to what depths of depravity William was willing to sink. Now, it was fair to say, he had an approximate idea.

 

 

 

 

 

William was standing at the sink, making his ablutions. It seemed that he didn't have quite the hold on the boy's affections that he'd imagined.

"She's really quite beautiful. And Mother will be happy to hear that I'm finally settling down." He looked over his shoulder and smiled, "No more sowing my wild oats." He shook his fingertips into the basin and scrubbed his face with a towel.

When he spoke of the girl, this… Cecily, it was nothing like hearing him speak of the friend who'd thrown him over at school. Then, there had been passion, which, having been so all-consuming, left nothing but the cinder of resentment in its wake.

Angelus had smiled as he listened to the tale, watching William's eyes turn hard as he recounted the betrayal. The boy felt deeply, it was plain, and his moral compass was no match for his love. Angelus had imagined all the ways he could turn such a charming trait to his own advantage.

Still, perhaps it was time to end it. William was losing his shine. Angelus had a pocket full of forged letters, edged in a wide black border, and everything was ready for the coup de grace.

But another morning had come, and Angelus watched him as he got dressed, stuffed his collar in his pocket, and smiled.

Whole and unharmed, William stepped through the door and into the sunlight.

 

: : : :

 

Angelus startled at the sound of the door. He'd been sitting in the parlor since sundown, lulled by Dru, who lay on the floor, whispering to the ceiling.

"Angelus?"

Dru sat up as Darla entered. "You look like a boy, Grandmother."

"Please don't call me that." Darla stood framed in the threshold. "Angelus, you're not ready. The invitation was for nine. We'll be late."

He turned in his seat to better appraise her costume. "Trousers?"

"Can I come with you?" Dru wrapped herself around his legs, spider-walking fingers up his thigh. He caught her hand and held it tightly.

Darla looked down at her ensemble, picking at an invisible spot of dirt, her smile spreading as she looked up, "It's a Turkish theme."

He stood up, disentangling himself from Dru, and crossed over to her. He ran a hand around her waist. "And how, exactly, are trousers Turkish?"

"I'm a harem boy." She stepped back and turned, letting the full legs billow out. "But I decided against the turban."

"You look stunning."

"I know." She smiled and leaned in closer, "Aren't you going to dress?"

"I thought I'd let you draw the attention tonight."

Darla laughed as she turned to leave, "I'd be offended at your implication, if I thought you were listening to what you were saying." She paused with a hand on the doorframe and turned back, "I don't know what's got you sulking like this, but whatever it is, I do wish you'd just kill it. Watching you stare at the fireplace is starting to bore me."

Dru was up now, spinning in a slow circle around the room. "You never let me come. But I'm going to dance with a fakir tonight. And a goldfish."

Angelus pursed his lips and let the door click shut.

 

: : : :

 

Angelus dutifully followed Darla into the ballroom. He knew he should know the name of the family throwing the gala, as she had explained this culmination of her game more than once.

He was sure that, whatever the plan, it was marvelously cunning. He just wasn't clear what he was expected to do. If he asked her now, amidst the herd of sheep in silk clothing, she would not be pleased.

He led her through one waltz, and then another, reciprocating her devious smiles over the heads of Heads of State, all the while worrying at his own problem like a dog at a bone. It had been months now, and even he was tired of his indecision.

"Mr. Gladstone, please allow me to introduce my husband, Angelus." Darla gripped his arm tighter, and he bowed his introduction. Nails on skin helped remind him of the niceties.

"It is an honor, Sir. You're doing the right thing for Ireland. All the farmers want is fair rent and the right to sell their land, after all."

If there was a reply, he never heard it, because Darla pulled him away, whispering low, "I will not have you ruin this for me with politics." She softened her grip on his arm, "Follow my lead, and when I give the signal, escort the girl you're dancing with out to the garden."

"Darla," Angelus murmured in her ear, "does your plan include killing the Prime Minister?"

She tilted her head indulgently as she spoke, "No, dear. I have mentioned the mark before," Her voice turned steely, "Think hard. You'll remember."

He took her arm in his, leading her back toward the dancers. "Shall we rejoin the party?"

Darla stopped and leaned into him. "We have time. I thought we could play harem boy and sultan."

Angelus smiled his first genuine smile of the evening. "Lead the way."

 

 

 

 

The gardens were dark and verdant. The woman on his arm was dim and long-winded.

Darla had nodded to him, as he led this hawk-faced woman in the quadrille. He'd nodded back and whispered a few simple words that made his dance partner blush.

Now he was rather unsubtly looking for Darla while the woman rambled on about her passion for breeding foxhounds.

They drifted further away from the lights of the house and Angelus drifted back to his problem.

 

He'd guided the woman so far into the garden that the only light was the moon. She shrieked with hilarity at some joke of her own, and Angelus winced.

"And that's when dear old Spot jumped up on the table!"

Darla was nowhere to be seen, but he'd had enough of this woman's babbling.

"Goodness, are we stopping?"

"You are." He covered her mouth with one hand as he wrenched her head to the side. The silence was more delicious than the blood.

She dropped like a stone and he licked his lips. He straightened his jacket and dusted down his sleeves as Darla approached.

"What did you do?"

"Hello, darling."

Darla looked closely at the corpse near his feet. "That is not the Duchess of Bedford."

He followed her gaze, "That wasn't your mark?"

"No."

 

: : : :

 

 

Angelus decided that the problem lay within himself. He needed something new. Something different and exotic.

He let the body of the streetwalker fall into the river and whistled for Dru. She stepped out of the shadows holding a little girl by the hand.

"Look who I found. She was upset that you were talking to her mummy, but I told her not to worry. You're a good daddy, and will make everything all right." She smiled as she knelt down beside the girl, "See? Everything is going to be…"

"Hurry up, Dru. It's late."

With a quiet splash the child joined its mother and Drusilla slipped her hand into his. In the distance the workers were already arriving on the dock, yelling from one ship to another. Dru sang a lullaby.

He'd taken to fantasizing, in the pre-dawn hours, about leaving. Exploring some tropical clime, some… uncivilized land. Perhaps he'd tear a swath through the Dark Continent. But then he'd circle back to The William Question.

He could turn him, but the encumbrance of a fledge would be worse than staying in London. Leave him with the girls, though, and they'd eat him alive. And he could picture the tongue-lashing he'd get for bringing home another one. She'd only have to say one word. Penn had been a zealot, though. Surely this one, with his romantic ideals and… interesting morality, wouldn’t be half as annoying. At any rate, he’d be much easier to break.

 

: : : :

 

He'd loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat before he'd even reached the bedroom door. All of the candles were lit, and Darla was packing.

"Going somewhere?"

She didn't look up as she replied, "Yes. To the Master's court. He's sent for me."

"I'll have Dru pack as well."

"No." She went over to the wardrobe, grabbing another handful of lace and linen, "I'm going alone."

Angelus groaned as he spread out on the bed. "And why's that, then?"

Darla stopped packing and turned around to face him. She was seething. "Do you really need to ask why, Angelus? It was one thing, watching you mope around the house for months. I didn't even mind when you didn't come home – at least then my plans didn't get ruined – but now whatever it is that's got your attention is affecting me." She loomed over him with her fists curled, "And I won't have it. You can either be a part of this family or you can leave."

He couldn't help it. He started to laugh.

She raised a fist and he caught it easily, pulling her on top of him. She was furious, scratching like a cat. He rolled her over and held her pinned to the mattress. "Mm. I love it when you threaten."

She writhed underneath him in full vamp face, trying to bite.

Angelus felt the mattress dip and looked up at Drusilla, whose hands were clasped to her breast. "Oh, wrestling! Can I play?"

In unison, Darla and Angelus both shouted, "No."

Dru whined a bit but sat back and Angelus released Darla's arms.

"It's not fair. I never get to have pudding, even when I'm a good girl."

Darla sat up and ran a hand through her hair.

Angelus sighed and looked from one to the other. "Tomorrow night we'll go out, the three of us. We'll hunt together."

Drusilla clapped her hands. "We can build sand castles. And then we'll ride horses and watch them joust."

Darla smiled. "That sounds delightful."

 

: : : :

 

The ambassador and his wife were generous hosts. At least, they had been, until Angelus requested that _Herr_ Traugott wear the Arab strap.

He supposed he might have balked as well, outfitted as it was, with razor wire. His wife had been somewhat more accommodating though, and in the end, they'd all been satiated.

At least, Angelus had been. He smiled as he arranged them on the settee, looking for all the world as if they'd only fallen asleep.

The door opened and laughter echoed through the foyer, resolving into two distinctly familiar voices. He watched them from the shadows as they came further into the room, listening to the soft rise and fall of their patter.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she'd done it out of spite.

Dru was smiling like she'd caught the canary.

"Look what I made. It's called Willy."

 

 

The End

 

 

* * *

* * *

[[His lack of a public school education](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pederasty#Victorian_England)] • [[A wide black border](http://www.shortText.com/74437v)] • [[Coup de Grace](http://wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=coup%20de%20grace)]  
: : : :  
[[Fakir](http://skepdic.com/fakir.html)] • [[Mr. Gladstone](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liberal_Government_1880-1885)] • [[Doing the right thing for Ireland](http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/gladstone_and_ireland.htm)] • [[Quadrille](http://www.mixedpickles.org/19cdance.html)] • [[Duchess of Bedford](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Russell%2C_Duchess_of_Bedford)]  
: : : :  
[[He needed something new](http://www.malehealth.co.uk/userpage1.cfm?item_id=125)] • [[Dark Continent](http://www.bartleby.com/61/96/D0029600.html)] • [[Herr Traugott](http://www.shortText.com/07yc6z)] • [[Arab strap = Scottish slang for cock ring](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=arab+strap)] • [[Darla (AtS 2.7)](http://www.buffyworld.com/angel/season2/transcripts/29_tran.shtml)] • [[Destiny (AtS 5.8)](http://www.buffyworld.com/angel/season5/transcripts/5x08_tran.php)]

 


End file.
